


hello, my old heart

by stockholmstan



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Federico García Lorca - Freeform, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Spain, Texting, aimee and nick have KIDS!!!!, all spanish lit references bc i am a Nerd, everyone has awful ex-boyfriends, harry is a primary teacher, nick has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stockholmstan/pseuds/stockholmstan
Summary: At the ages 30 and 32, respectively, Nick and Aimee made the decision to start their own family, done with men and their shittiness. They live their lives in an idyllic village far, far away from London. And for the most part, they raise their children in companionable happiness. Until Harry Styles, the primary teacher of Nick's dreams, returns from traveling around the world to be Nick's son's teacher and to upend the entire sanity of their familial unit. And to be, like, ridiculously handsome and cute and destroy Nick.





	hello, my old heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii! Thanks again to Writcraft for such a fun and nice fest experience, my FIRST!! I've been working on this baby since July and then I started uni and it was promptly moved to the back burner of my mind so it's super nice to finally have this out there!! I took AP Spanish Literature in high school, so this is definitely an homage to tragically amazing Federico Garcia Lorca, my favorite Spanish author anywhere! Find me on tumblr at stockholmstan!
> 
> Written for the prompt: Nick and Aimee are platonically raising kids together somewhere in England. They're both done with men. Their son's new English teacher, who's mysteriously just come back from a decade living abroad and is a little bit too fit for Nick's liking, adds a bit of complication.

_ “To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” - Federico Garcia Lorca _

 

***

 

Nicholas Grimshaw was red-faced and sweating up an ugly storm in the garden when his youngest child, Lily, came outside to stare at him from the shaded patio, two lemonades in hand, dressed in the bright pink playsuit that Henry had designed and gifted for her 4th birthday.

“Daddy,” she began, “what are you doing?”

To be fair, it wasn’t a bad question. Why would he, the whiniest member of the family, be purposefully outside in the awful September heat doing garden work? Nick still wasn’t really sure why he was cutting the shrubbery and standing with his hands on his hips, overlooking the entirety of the family’s garden. He rather thought he resembled his own father in that moment. Without answering her question, he walked up next to her and accepted the proffered lemonade.

Breathing heavily, he said, with a slightly manic laugh, “Not entirely sure, petal.”

Lily looked at him with her head cocked to the side, her blonde eyebrows furrowed. She sniffed, “Well, mummy said it’s almost time for tea, and you have to take a shower first.”

Nick grinned at her before setting down the lemonade and picking her up, swinging her around and dropping kisses all over her face, her squealing, and him all the while crying,  _ “Do I smell bad, darling? Hmm? Do I smell?” _

***

Aimee had made spaghetti that night, which was Oliver’s favorite meal and simultaneously Lily’s messiest. Nick greeted her, post-shower, with a kiss on the cheek and grabbed a piece of garlic bread and said, his mouth full, “Where’s the boy?” 

Aimee sighed, a small smile on her face, “I think he’s nervous for school tomorrow. He’s in his room packing his backpack.” She continued slowly stirring the pasta and looked at Nick, knowingly. 

“Ohhh, I  _ know  _ that look,” He laughed. “Do you think it’s finally time for me to give him a man-to-man, real laddy talk?” Aimee rolled her eyes.

“I think he just wants his dad to hang out with him.”

Nick swallowed. Let it never be said Nicholas Grimshaw did not love his family. When he had reached the age of 32 and Aimee, 30, still without men in their lives and the victim of too many bad breakups, they moved outside of London, to a smaller village, Holmes Chapel, which was close to Nick’s family. They bought a small but nice home, ready for children, a family. Nick had always considered Aimee to be his family after all. It just took some artificial insemination to fully cement that sentiment. And now, almost ten years later, their eldest son, was heading off to Year Five (Nick got dizzy sometimes, thinking about how his children were growing up), but, according to Aimee, he needed his father to remind him everything was alright. 

However, while their family was by no means conventional, Aimee had always been the maternal type, to cook, to have the  _ emotional  _ talks with the kids. Nick had honestly felt like a bit of dunce, beyond what he discovered was his true purpose in life: the laundry. Although, he never wanted his children to have a stoic father, whom they would fear, and so he mainly substituted this shortcoming with laughter. He never failed to make his children laugh.

Nick loved Lily with his whole heart, but Oliver was his  _ son.  _ His son who was a genius, who was so creative and silly and took care of his sister, but his son who had difficulty making friends in school because he was shy and more quiet than the other boys, who liked to watch his mother cook instead of having a kick about outside. But to Nick, Oliver was a fucking brilliant  _ star.  _ He just had difficulty expressing that to his son sometimes. 

He knew that Oliver needed more than a giggle. He needed his dad to tell him that his parents were proud and excited for him every step of the way, that he needn’t worry about school, about making friends, because his father loved him so much that he felt his heart might burst at times. So Nick needed to buck up for two seconds and do that. 

He found himself outside Oliver’s door, rapping his fist against it softly. He heard a meek “Come in”, and the door was open. Nick saw before him his son sat on the floor in the middle of his room, with notebooks and binders and various items of stationery and writing utensils spread out before him. 

“My,” Nick heard himself saying, “What a mess you have made, love.” He slowly dropped onto the area rug to sit with his legs crossed (though his knees ached), slowly rifling through the mess in front of him. 

Oliver huffed, “Dad, are you taking me to school tomorrow?” and for a moment, Nick was taken aback by how much he saw his younger self in his son. Young Nick who secretly craved attention from his parents but acted indifferent to their presence and care.  _ Stop projecting, Nicholas, _ he thought. 

Nick paused in his ministrations to smile softly. “Yes, bub. Do you know your mum and I are very, very proud of you? We love you very much, do you know?” He paused, watching as Oliver mumbled back a bashful, “I love you, too.” Nick then continued, “Are you at least excited?”

Oliver paused as if in thought. “Yes,” He answered simply. He turned back to his school supplies, and Nick got the memo.  Oliver could have just as easily said, “ _ Please leave now, father. You are distracting me, and you’ve the face of a giant knob. _ ” But Oliver was not allowed to use bad words and probably couldn’t use “knob” in a sentence correctly if he was allowed to in the first place. In Nick’s eyes, as long as Oliver was alright and happy and determined to go to school, Nick could sleep well at night.

He nodded his head, patted Oliver’s head softly, leaving a short kiss on his forehead, before struggling to rise up to his two feet and saying, “Dinner should be ready in about 15 minutes. Don’t make your mum wait, love.”

“I won’t!” He called out, as Nick slowly made his way out of the room, to pad back down the stairs to bother Aimee some more. 

***

The next morning, as Nick drove Oliver to school, the boy stayed completely silent. Nick and Aimee had both noticed his attitude when they sat as a family for breakfast. Oliver was mumbling his responses again, eating quickly and excusing himself before the rest of them finished. Nick felt responsible for making sure his son was alright and had told Aimee he would speak to Oliver before he went to school. So, as Nick pulled up to the car park outside of the primary school, he prepared himself to talk. 

“Oliver, you are excited for school, aren’t you?” He said, in his softest, best Dad voice, looking at Oliver through the rearview mirror. “You can tell me anything, you know, anything you’re worried about. I won’t judge you, because I love you.”

His son looked back at him with wide eyes. “I  _ am  _ excited for school, Dad, I promise. I-I just… want to make friends with someone who’s like me.”

“What do you mean, love?”

Oliver looked away. “Someone with a family like our family.”

Nick’s stomach dropped, and his heart felt like it was being ripped into two. Just as soon as the sadness came, though, it left and was replaced by anger. “Has anyone said anything to you about our family, Oliver? Is anyone being mean to you?” It made his blood boil, someone making Oliver think their family was anything less than okay. Oliver didn’t respond, but Nick took that as an answer enough and continued, “Oliver, your mother and I love you, your sister loves you. I never want you to ever, ever doubt that. I never want anyone to make you feel that way. There are different looking families all around the world. Some kids only have one parent, some kids have two mums, but families love each other, and everything else doesn’t matter, okay? I love you so much, darling. Come give me a hug.” Nick turned around in his seat and opened his arms to his son.

Oliver sniffed, his shoulders hunched up, as he got up to hug his dad. Nick held him tightly and smacked a big, wet kiss on his cheek, which made the boy giggle as he flinched away. Nick checked the time on his watch. “Well, sport, it looks like it’s about time for you to head in. You still alright with walking in by yourself, you know the room number and all?”

He nodded his head, a small smile on his face. 

“And I will be back here to pick you up this afternoon, okay?”

Oliver nodded again. 

Nick smiled at his boy. “Alright, I’ll leave you be. I love you, Ollie.”

Oliver grabbed his bag and hopped out of the car before saying, “Love you, too, Dad!”

“Have a good day!” Nick called as he watched his son walk inside the school building. He sighed and could nothing more than hope for the best. 

***

Less than 8 hours later, Nick found myself in the same spot from that morning, anxiously waiting for his son to come out either happily or in tears. He checked the time on the car dash, surprised that Oliver was actually five minutes later than he thought he would be. But no matter, Nick would just wait five more minutes, and if Oliver wasn’t out by then, Nick would get out of his car and go inside and find him. He was only worried, though; Oliver wasn’t a slow child and would it have been any other day, Nick wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong. All he could think of was this morning and Oliver’s earlier comments. 

Five minutes passed. 

The steady stream of children leaving the school had slowed, and Nick knew something was up. He sighed and pulled the car key out of the ignition, quickly jogging over to the main door of the school. Nick tried to remember the name of Oliver’s teacher for this year. Aimee had told him; she’d met him at open house, when Nick had that meeting… thingy, whatever. 

_ Smith… Scott? Stephens…  _ But Nick couldn’t recall one that seemed right. 

 

He figured out easily which hallway the Year Five classes were on and began reading the teachers’ names, which were posted up on the doors. He came up on a slightly ajar door, the name on the door reading ‘Styles’, and could hear Oliver’s voice. He pushed the door open, seeing his son speaking to the teacher. He could only focus on his son, though, and the guilty expression on Oliver’s face when both heads turned toward him at his intrusion. 

That was, unfortunately, when Nick’s eyes moved to the teacher sat at his desk, expecting a 65-year-old mean, mean man, but in fact seeing a man (he could really be called a  _ boy) _ , no older than 30. He was… well, Nick considered himself to be a man of restraint, he had  _ children,  _ for God’s sake. The man was very attractive, with big, green eyes and short wavyish brown hair, and what Nick could only imagine was an amazing physique. He smiled softly, just watching patiently as Nick stared, open-mouthed. 

“Dad!” Oliver called, effectively bringing Nick back to reality and ending the awkward silence of his incompetence as a man. He approached the two, choosing to stand close to his son.

“Hiya, love,” Nick croaked. “Was just worried when you didn’t come out, bub.”

The attractive man, Mr. Styles, spoke, “Entirely my fault. Oliver and I were having a very good conversation, and it seems time eluded us. He’s extremely well-read. And then he mentioned his dad was an author, and it all made sense.”

“Dad, Mr. Styles has just come back from his holidays in  _ Spain.  _ So I told him about how we went to Spain with Mummy and Lily last summer when you were writing your book!”

Nick smiled uneasily. He preferred to not talk about his writing with strangers, kept the anonymity feeling alive. “That’s lovely, darling. Where did you stay, Mr. Styles?”

“Please,” He said, stretching out a hand for Nick to shake, “call me Harry. Uh..?”

“Nick,” he supplied, clasping Harry’s hand in his own. Oliver scrunched his nose up like he always did when either one of his parents said their first name aloud. 

“And I stayed in Barcelona at the start but found myself in Andalucia by the end of it. The grandeur and simultaneously the tangible grief of the Moors at the Alhambra was exceptional,” Harry enthused. 

Nick nodded. “We stayed in Barcelona for a few weeks. Oliver’s mother is an artist, and we all had to indulge her for the Picasso and Gaudí, didn’t we?” He turned to Oliver, who nodded happily, happy to brag to his teacher. “And for myself, we stayed in Madrid and Granada. Was studying up on Federico Garcia Lorca and writing a bit, I suppose.”

“And your wife, what sort of art does she do?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Nick, proud man of his sexuality, bristled at the well-deserved assumption. Wouldn’t Nick be married or at least in a relationship with the mother of his children? He had handled this assumption since Oliver was born, and the speculation of it only increased when Oliver started school and when Lily was born and when Aimee went on dates in the village with other men. 

“Oliver’s mother and I,” Nick took a deep breath, “aren’t married.”

Harry gasped softly and held his hands out, as if in surrender. “I’m so, so terribly sorry. I-I didn’t mean to, to pry. My mother always says I have a right nasty habit of putting my foot in my mouth!”

Nick forced an awkward laugh out and said agreeably, “It’s really no problem. Ollie, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, dad,” he responded dutifully, already moving to the classroom door. 

“Oliver, can you say goodbye and thank you to Mr. Styles?”

Oliver did so, and Nick noticed Harry’s face still flushed in embarrassment as they left the room and then the school. 

That night at dinner, Oliver raved and went on about how amazing Mr. Styles was, how they would get to read Harry Potter (“ _ Harry  _ Potter _ , Dad!” _ ) that year, and how he even made two whole friends who sat at his table and didn’t even want to play footie during recess. Nick listened quietly and kept thinking about how handsome Harry was, and for the first time since possibly Lily’s birth, he was attracted to a man. That man being Harry Styles. 

***

Sundays were for the family, and Sundays were for the family roast, and Sundays were for the family sundaes to be made. Which meant the weekly trip to Sainsbury’s. With children. The Phillips-Grimshaw family was not known for being the quiet sort, either. 

Lily sat in the trolley. Nick pushed the trolley. Aimee walked ahead, checking the grocery list from her phone (texting her new boyfriend, morelike). And Oliver wrecked havoc and gave both Aimee and Nick headaches. So, of course, the universe decided that in the middle of Nick choosing his weekly cereal whilst arguing with Lily that “ _ No, darling, remember, you don’t  _ like  _ eating cereal,” _ and Aimee doing God knows what was when Harry Styles would appear in the same aisle as the family, according to Oliver’s loud shout of “Mr. Styles!”

Nick’s head popped up in response and bashfully waved at the man now in the middle of their familial chaos. And it turned out Aimee had still been close, studying the boxes of granola bars further down the aisle. In any case, the family looked as close to chaotic and messy as was the truth, probably. Which of course made it the most ideal moment for them to run into the man. 

“Oliver!” Harry called back, happily. He smiled at the boy and then met Nick’s wild eyes, still smiling. “Hello, Nick!”

Lily, probably angry at how no one was paying her any attention, defiantly whined out, “Lily!”

Aimee laughed and made her way back over to the trolley. “Yes, your name is Lily, very good, sweetheart.” She glanced toward Harry. “Nice to see you, Mr. Styles.”

“Ms. Phillips,” He greeted cheerily, the ‘Ms’ intentional, as he met eyes with Nick looking nervous. 

Aimee smirked, undoubtedly noting the exchange between the two men. “Please call me Aimee, especially now that you’ve met our whole family!”

Both Aimee and Harry looked at Nick, who had yet to speak a single word. He quickly scrambled for something socially acceptable to add to the conversation. “Shopping for your Sunday roast?” He croaked. 

Harry hummed, thoughtfully. “Living the bachelor’s life at the mo, unfortunately. Frozen pizza and a salad for me.”

“You should eat dinner at my house, Mr. Styles!” Oliver squawked. 

Both Harry and Nick opened their mouths to express platitudes, but Aimee was the one to interrupt them both. “That’s a lovely idea, Oliver,” she said, a knowing smirk on her face.  _ God, of course,  _ Nick thought to himself.  _ She’s already figured out that I fancy him. Damn, damn,  _ damn.  

And so, with a shared grimace between the two men, Harry followed the Phillips-Grimshaw family in his car to their home. Upon arrival, Aimee whisked the children away to the kitchen to be her dinner helpers as she prepared the roast, leaving Nick and Harry in their dust to awkwardly shuffle in the entry room.

“We-” “I-”

Harry smiled, softly. “You first.”

“I was going to say we could watch the footie match if you wanted, Mr. Bachelor.” Nick grinned bashfully. Jesus, he was about as bad as a teenager. “You?”

“I was going to say that I know that Love Actually is on ITV in about,” He paused to check his wristwatch, “...in about 15 minutes, I believe.”

Nick’s smile grew wider as he let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god you aren’t laddy.”

Harry gasped in faux-outrage, then immediately flexing his arms in defense. “I am very much laddy, thank you very much.” They both burst into laughs, and Nick led him into the living room.

He turned the television on and tried to place what was going on as X Factor finished out. He casually sat down on the couch and waited for Harry to follow suit, not necessarily paying attention to him until Harry sat far too close than what Nick had anticipated.

“So,” Harry said, conversationally. “I looked you up on the internet. You were a pretty big deal in London.”

Nick stiffened. He hated that that was the natural reaction to anyone talking about his life before Lily and Oliver and their quiet village life, but it was. “Doubt anyone would care about me now if I went back, would they?” He joked, weakly.

Harry stared at him with a funny look on his face. “Not trying to pry, mate, but you were sat front row at the House of Holland show with Aimee and Alexa fucking Chung.”

“Well,” Nick sniffed. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Aimee and I’ve moved on from London. The only people who I care about being seen with now are my kids, you know?”

Harry hummed again. “S’ still cool, though. Proper celebrity and all.”

They then sat in somewhat awkward silence as Dermot pleaded to the camera for people to  _ Please, please send your votes in, no act is safe. _

Nick cleared his throat and snuck a glance at Harry. While slightly annoyed by his interrogation, the man was thoughtful, and Oliver just  _ loved  _ him. A part of Nick thought about a different sort of Sunday night, one in the future, one in which Harry was a character at the forefront, where he fit into their little, chaotic, crazy, amazing, wonderful family. But that was ridiculous. Nick didn’t know anything about Harry aside that he was Oliver’s teacher and liked literature and Spain and liked a romantic comedy over sports. That couldn’t be enough for Nick’s trigger-happy brain to hold onto as substantial information.

It was only after this thought finished that Nick came to the realization that Harry had picked up on his staring, had shifted his body slightly closer on the couch, and was currently staring right back at Nick with a small twinkle in his eyes. 

“I’m actually extremely gay,” Nick burst out in his nervousness.  _ Wait, fuck fuck fuck FUCK.  _ His eyes widened and his face was probably bright red and he jumped off the couch with a speed that he had not seen from himself since perhaps primary P.E. “I’m.. I-uh, just going to check,” Voice crack, “on how that roast is coming along! Entirely too quiet, that kitchen is!” He forced out a laugh and ran out of the room, in through the kitchen doors. 

His family proceeded to quiet from the chatter Nick hadn’t even heard in the first place, obviously too focused on looking into the eyes of- No!  _ Bad!  _ Family first, Nick chanted loudly in his head. His  _ family  _ was staring at him, slightly out of breath, still flustered and very much looking back at them with wild eyes.

Lily was the first to speak. “Daddy, your face looks like you’re about to explode like a balloon,” She observed, then continued stirring whatever Aimee had given to her to stir, with the air of indifference she had inherited from Aimee, no doubt. 

Aimee cackled and said, “What’s gone wrong, then?” That stupid smirk was still on her face. 

“Shut up,” He glared back, then, taking notice of his children still in the room who were  _ not to learn to say “Shut up” until they’re teenagers _ , remedied it with, “You know  _ exactly  _ what’s gone wrong, and I blame you.”

Aimee made a come-here motion with her hands, a motion which Nick knew meant, “ _ Let me tell you something I don’t want the kids to hear.”  _ The kids had lost interest anyway, already humming along to the radio Aimee had set on, to some Ed Sheeran tune that had come and gone at least 10 years ago. He walked up to her anyway, and she immediately pushed his shoulders down so that he was leaning over her.

“Nick,” Aimee whisper-screamed. “Get your head out of your ass and  _ flirt  _ with that man like we can both know you can. Your stupid, stupid brain is going to try to convince you that you’re being selfish to us, because I know you. But your brain is wrong, because one, this man is not one of shithead exes; two, he actually likes children; and three, you deserve to be happy, too. For some reason, we all love you a lot. And no, you’re not betraying your children by wanting to be slightly selfish and happy.”

Before he could respond, she opened the fridge and grabbed two beers and, thrusting them into Nick’s hands, pushed him back into the living room. Looking over Nick’s shoulder, she popped her head out and spoke to Harry, whose face was a comic mixture between confused and amused, “We’ll be ready to eat in 15 minutes tops!”

Harry smiled at her and then, she returned to the kitchen without another word. He then turned to Nick, and his face turned into one of nervous anticipation.

Nick joked, not looking and passing Harry one of the beers, “What are the morals of drinking a beer with your child’s teacher?” He was staring at his feet.

“Nick…..” Harry trailed off, looking concerned. 

“No, I’m sorry. It was extremely inappropriate of me to say such a thing. I’ve probably made you uncomfortable, and if you want to leave, I can tell Oliver it was my fault, so he won’t be upset at you-”

Harry was suddenly there, right next to him, close enough to grab his arm and tether him back to reality. “Hey, shh. I’m not leaving, okay?”

Nick nodded stiffly.

“...And to be fair,” Harry continued. “I’m also gay, so there’s no way that would make me uncomfortable. You worry too much, mate.”

Nick’s head jerked up, mouth open in slight awe.  _ Keep your cool, Grimshaw.  _ “Oh, alright then.”

“Yeah, you sort of left before I could say anything, so.” He lightly laughed in such a way that Nick felt he was going to blush and tried his best to quell the bodily reaction. Harry continued, “If you don’t mind telling me, I know I’m awfully curious, how do you and Aimee work?”

Nick smiled. While he never truly felt comfortable enough to try to explain his family’s dynamic to regular strangers, he tried to take Aimee’s advice about lightening up. He was, of course, very proud of the family he had made. “Aimee and I were best friends in London, since I dropped out of uni to move away from Manchester. She’s from America, obviously, and way cooler than our children will ever know, but at the time, we were just trying to survive living dirt poor in a city that didn’t care for us. The only reason I knew people like Alexa and Henry was because I met them before they got their break. Like La Residencia de Estudiantes. I was Lorca and Henry was Dali and we were all artists in our own minds, you know?

“When we were about 25, Jesus, it was so long ago… When we were 25, Aimee and I had both just gotten out of really, really big relationships and were just sick of men, you know? Sick of trying to find the One. And I don’t know. We got super drunk and just, made a pact. If we weren’t in relationships at 30, we would move away from the city, start a little family of our own, break the mold a bit. Her parents were ragging on her to have kids and so were mine, and it just worked out, I don’t know. We also always promised that if we did eventually find someone, we would try our best to make them an active part of our family. The last part has been harder for me, I guess.” He looked up to gauge Harry’s reaction. While he was his family’s biggest fan, he knew it was a mouthful and potentially confusing to some. “I… I’m very protective of the kids. I worry about Oliver, you know. He’s so brilliant, but I just don’t think the other kids his age are able to appreciate him the way we do.”

But Harry’s face was thoughtful and pensive, respectful but not stoic. He said, his voice gravelly, “You have such a beautiful family, Nick. And I watch out for Oliver all the time; he’s a special lad. Reminds me of his very smart and kind father.” His face was much closer to Nick’s than he had realized and was only moving closer, until Nick glanced at Harry’s lips. He wanted to bite the pouty bottom one; it was like fucking art.

And just then, as if he could know telepathically the moment Nick’s long since dormant sex drive was recharging, Oliver burst into the living room to call, “Dinnertime!”

Nick jumped from his seat, nearly braining Harry in his haste to seem presentable for his child. He breathed shakily and smiled far too brightly at Oliver, patting his shoulder and softly leading him into the dining room, where Aimee had set down a feast. Lily and Aimee were sat in their usual spots, and one of the kitchen chairs had been pulled up next to where Nick sat. Nick internally rolled his eyes but kept mum. 

Once they had all sat down and dug into their food, Aimee made exceptional conversation to prevent the table from falling into silence. After Nick had sent the kids off to do their washing up and play quietly in the living room and only the adults were left, Aimee began quizzing Harry on the various parts of the world he had travelled. It turned out he had gone to many more places than Spain. 

“I stayed in Paris so long, I thought I might just settle down there and teach English, but my boyfriend at the time had wanted to keep moving and moving to different countries. He was pretty well off so I didn’t complain really. But then I was confused as to why he loved Greece so much, until I walked in on him having sex with the bartender from our hotel. Got on the next plane to Barcelona and stayed there for a whole month until I only had enough money to buy my plane ticket to come home to mummy with my tail in between my legs. That’s who I live with by the way. My mum and stepdad. Just until I save up enough for a small house in the village.”

Nick shook his head. “Mate, you’ve lived the great life, travelled, made mistakes, lost love. Nothing to be ashamed of, honestly.” Aimee nodded back enthusiastically.

“How old are you, Harry?” She asked.

“Thirty.”

“Still so young,” She smiled kindly. Aimee lifted her glass of wine to the air, and Nick followed suit. “To thirty and thriving,” She toasted, with Harry reluctantly joining. Their glasses clinked, and they finished their wine amid soft chatter and talk. 

And when Nick walked Harry to the door after the hour was far too late for a primary teacher to still be awake (because of course he did, Aimee told him to, anyway), he gave Harry a kiss on the cheek and a hug. As they pulled away, Harry stared into Nick’s eyes as if searching for God knows what. Nick just smiled, hoping to quell any other worries that Harry had.  _ Maybe he’s just as afraid of intimacy as you _ , he thought. And when Harry smiled back at Nick, it felt like everything was okay for once. They exchanged phone numbers, pretending it would be for any other reason than the one they knew it was, that Harry could use it in case of an emergency with Oliver at school, that Nick could use it in case he needed an explanation for a bad mark or any questions he may have. It felt like a secret for the two of them; they both knew the phone numbers were going to be used for other silly reasons, but neither of them wanted to say it aloud.

***

Nick hadn’t realized that there would be almost no rational reason to see Harry in any occasion after their family dinner. It had been two weeks since then, and though they had texted nearly every day, Nick felt, well, underwhelmed. Aimee told him to just ask Harry out like he wanted, but maybe Nick was too old, too traditional for that. He wanted to speak to Harry in person, to gauge his reaction in person, so that nothing could be misconstrued, what with technology being Nick’s best friend and simultaneously his worst enemy. 

_ Ping, ping.  _ A new text from Harry.

_ Knock, knock.  _

**No.**

_ C’mon, pleaaaaaaseeee. :) _

**………**

_ Knock, knock!! _

**Who’s there?**

_ A broken pencil. _

**...A broken pencil who?**

_ Nevermind. _

**WHAT???**

**Are you kidding me**

**Harry………….**

_ It’s pointless!! _

**Adios.**

_ Nickkkk. _

_ Come back _

_ :( _

_ Adios amigo. _

**Don’t you have children to be teaching right now?**

_ Ahhh. They are currently in gym. _

**Hmmmm do not pity them.**

_ To be fair, I don’t pity them either. I am, though, currently marking up their papers, so this conversation has been a much-needed respite. xxx _

**You’re welcome :) Should go back to work though, writer’s block is kicking my ass. Thanks for the horrendous joke. Xx**

The  _ kisses  _ on that last message were downright scandalous. Nick had definitely not text-flirted with someone, or even  _ texted  _ someone other than Aimee for that long, since 2013. Nick quickly threw his phone across the room so that it landed on his bed and softly plopped onto the duvet, and then he turned back to his desk to continue writing whatever god-awful idea he got this morning when waiting for the kettle to boil.

But Nick could hardly focus on the idea that had been plaguing him all morning, a romance of course, because the only thing truly filling his mind was more thoughts of Harry. Questions he had for Harry, how he wanted to see the way his face reacted to different emotions, to find out his ticks and little quirks. Nick was well and truly ready to dive in. 

He just cursed himself for being a completely incompetent man, incapable of even the slightest flirting. 

***

It was a usual Friday night for Nick. Aimee was out with her new boyfriend, whom she still refused to tell Nick about (“Jesus Christ, Nick, you’d only ask the  _ entire village  _ about him until you’d convinced yourself he was the actual Antichrist, plus I actually really, really like him, so  _ no _ , I will not tell you his name!”), and Nick had the night to himself and the kids. So, of course, they found themselves at the grocery store, because Lily said, “Daddy, I want  _ pizza  _ but not  _ your  _ pizza, the one from the box that mummy gets.” And then Oliver chimed in helpfully with a “And ice cream!”, so Nick started the car, drove them to the grocery store, and there they were, in the frozen foods aisle.

Where Harry Styles was concentrating deeply on the boxes of frozen pizza. Like an absolute dream. 

“Mr. Styles!” Oliver called, smiling, politely. It was all reminiscent of the last time they had met in the grocery store. 

When his head raised in response, a gorgeous smile and animated face accompanied it. “Why,” He said, playfully, definitely for show for the kids, though he glanced at Nick’s face, “If it isn’t my favorite family!”

Though butterflies filled his stomach at how casually Harry made that remark, Nick had a strange feeling of familiarity, of comfort. Perhaps, it was because he now knew Harry and the parts of him that seemed a secret. Maybe it was because Nick wanted Harry to feel like home.

Nick returned to himself when Harry greeted him with a quick hug and smile, offering one back, and, hoping to make pleasant conversation, said, “Any grand plans for tonight, Mr. Styles?”

Harry grinned. He looked at the kids when he answered animatedly, every bit a primary school teacher, but Nick, for some reason, thought the words were meant for him. “Unfortunately not, Mr. Grimshaw! Seems you’ve caught me again on my way to grab my frozen pizza for the night!” 

Lily gasped, squirming around in the kid’s seat of the trolley. “But Daddy, that’s what  _ we’re  _ having for dinner!”  

Nick gasped right back at her, nervous at what he wanted to say, but making her giggle nonetheless. “Well, princess, do you think we should have Mr. Styles come eat with us again?” 

Both kids chanted their Yes’s. Before Harry could politely refuse under the guise that he ‘couldn’t possibly burden them in that way’, Nick said, “Looks like you’re coming with us, mate.”

They all returned home, again with Harry following behind in his car, where they made the pizza together, while Nick and Harry drank glasses of wine, and prepared the kids their ice cream sundaes. Then the kids went to bed. Aimee still hadn’t come home and would probably be in late. So in a way, Nick had Harry all to himself. 

They sat on the couch, close enough that their thighs were touching, but Harry just gave a soft smile, as the television played quietly in front of them.

“How’s Oliver been in school? Does he seem to be making friends?” Nick started.

“That thing you said about him being so brilliant, Nick, God, he  _ is.  _ I think some of the other boys, the boys who prefer books to their footy games, have picked up on that, I really do. I think he’s doing just fine, like, he’s definitely speaking to people and making friends I think. I even think he’s got a bit of an admirer, one of the girls who sits with him everyday and follows him out to recess and lunch.” 

Nick’s heart felt light as Harry continued to speak. 

“What about you?” Nick implored on, “Are you doing alright?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, as if confused, but then, perhaps, remembering the words he’d shared to Aimee and Nick, they relaxed back into a small grimace. “Suppose as well as can be suspected, for a 30-year-old single gay man living with his mum.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Think you could be worse off, if I’m honest. You could already have a family and a home and  _ still _ be a single gay man.”

Harry scooted closer to Nick on the couch, a devilish smirk and raised eyebrows. “Well, you know what they say about two single gay men, left alone on a couch....”

Nick could hardly breathe, his whole heart in his throat, the closer Harry got. It felt like the whole night had been inevitably boiling down to this exact moment. “W-what do they say?” He croaked, then proceeded to clear his throat. When he raised his eyes slightly, Harry was right there, staring at Nick’s lips. If he moved one more centimeter, he would be there, kissing Nick. And Nick  _ wanted  _ that. So he made the move.

He kissed Harry, allowed himself to be pushed back into his couch, as Harry enthusiastically responded. And it wasn’t quite fireworks, but there was enough feeling there, feelings that Nick had tried to suppressed,  _ don’t be selfish, Nicholas, you have children now _ , that Nick allowed himself to truly enjoy the company and affections of such a handsome and thoughtful man. 

Nick gasped as he thought it, but he did.  _ He wanted Harry to be  _ family. It was so overwhelming and seemed far too soon, but the thought stayed in his mind all the while Harry kept kissing him. Harry’s lips were as plush as they looked, and the feel of his soft breath on Nick’s face grounded him. 

“Nick,” Harry whined, grabbing for Nick’s shirt in his fist, fitting himself atop Nick’s lap. 

And suddenly, the front door opened, and Aimee walked in, and Nick pushed himself away to the other side of the couch. Harry frowned slightly but pushed his hair back nervously nevertheless. The air was thick with tension as the three adults stared at each other.

“So…” Aimee started, cautiously walking into the living room. “Seems like you guys had a good time tonight.” Neither of the men responded, so she continued. “Can I just say,  _ fucking finally _ ?”

Nick looked over to Harry, who was trying to suppress a giggle, so Nick laughed outright. The whole group fell into giggles. 

Then Harry glanced at the ornate clock hanging from the wall and stood up from the couch, cursing under his breath. “I’m the worst, god, I’m so awful. I-I never told my mother where I was, and she’s probably worrying. I- Can I talk to you at the door, Nick? I’m sorry, Aimee; it was so good to see you.”

Aimee gave Nick a pitying look and went to her bag down in the kitchen. Nick led Harry out to the foyer and watched, not bothering to hide his disappointment, as Harry grabbed his coat and keys. 

“If you regret what happened, please don’t take it out on Oliver. It’s my fault,” Nick mumbled quietly, waiting for Harry to make eye contact with him. He definitely looked beyond pitiable. 

Harry’s head popped up from where he was fiddling with the buttons, and a smile appeared on his face, making Nick bristle.  _ Did he find it  _ funny? But the man grabbed Nick’s face in his face and held him close, enough that their forehead were slightly resting against each other.

“Nick,” He breathed. “Darling, I regret nothing, absolutely nothing. Since I’ve come back to Europe, my mother has been extremely overprotective of him, more than likely afraid that I’ll disappear for a year again.” He kissed the corner of Nick’s mouth. “But she’ll have to get over it, because we’ve been dancing around this for too long.”

“I don’t want you to get away from me again,” Nick admitted aloud, whispering. He put his arms around Harry’s waist, because he could. Reflexively, Harry wrapped his arms around Nick’s neck. Then, louder, “Let me take you out for dinner this weekend. We’ll do it right. I want to woo you and to be wooed.” Then he kissed Harry fully on the mouth, grinning internally when Harry made a soft surprised noise. 

Harry purposefully broke them apart and laughed softly. “Excuse me, I thought I was being wooed. A lady doesn’t give a kiss  _ before  _ the first date.”

“Better get one for our first date, then.” Instead of leaning for the kiss, Nick gave Harry a tight hug. “Text me when you get home safe. And I’ll text you about this weekend,” He said into Harry’s neck. They let go of one another, and, with one more hopeful glance, Harry opened the door and left.

And Nick felt whole. In a way that his children made him feel usually. It felt like hope and renewal, like being a child and being very old, all at once. It made him feel at ease, made his heartbeat slow. 

***

“Daaaaaaaaaaad, where’s Harry? He said he’d be here by now. I wanna show him the new book I got from the library.” Oliver had entered the kitchen where Aimee and Nick were frantically finishing up making their Saturday brunch. Nick checked his watch, and sure enough, Harry was late, which was definitely out of character for the man. He hated being late, especially for their usual Saturday family meals.

“Hmm,” Nick responded intelligently, not quite paying full attention to his son. “You’re right, love. I’m not sure.”

Nick and Harry had been happily and, in so far, successfully dating for nearly six months. They wanted to take it slow, especially considering that Harry was still Oliver’s teacher. They tried to hide that Harry slept over nearly every night. Oliver had only just started calling Harry “Harry” instead of Mr. Styles. And his girls absolutely loved Harry, who doted on them and definitely had a good amount experience from growing up with his lovely sister, Gemma. 

Nick had been besotted with the attention and allowed himself to truly open himself up again to intimate and romantic love. With Harry, it was easy. He had his flaws, of course, like sometimes he was a tad pretentious with his knowledge of literature (until Nick had to remind him that he was a genuinely published author) and maybe he snored too loud (Nick snored as well, so he couldn’t really complain). But he treated Nick so well, and for the first time, in maybe his whole life, Harry had treated him with full respect, no ulterior motives. Just kindness and love.

But he was late. And Nick didn’t like to show his anxiety, but what could be so different from all the other Saturday meals they had spent with his family that he would be late today?

Suddenly his phone pinged, and his attention was taken away from the veggies currently being sauteed in a pan on the stove. 

_ Knock, knock. _

Nick groaned and, slightly peeved off, texted back,  **Where are you???**

_ Come on! Play along for me, plsss.  _

_ Knock, knock.  _

He rolled his eyes and, sure enough, said,  **Who’s there? I’m mad at you btw**

_ Pauline. _

**………..Pauline who? Is this you telling me you’re leaving me for a woman named Pauline?**

_ Hush, love. _

The three dots appeared, but no message was sent. 

Then the doorbell rang, and Nick went to it, almost in a daze. Aimee continued to cook, and Nick could faintly hear her say to Oliver, “Wanna help me with lunch?”

Of course, Harry was the one at the door, Nick thought as he opened. That was no surprise. But what was surprising was that Harry made no move to greet Nick as the door opened and was instead texting on his phone. Nick coughed lightly to get his attention, and Harry looked up with a blinding smile. Nick could see from his position that Harry had just hit the “Send” button on the text he had been typing. And Nick’s phone pinged. Then it made sense. 

_ I’m Pauline in love with you. _

Nick gasped softly. It didn’t even feel dramatic to clasp his hand to his mouth. He looked up at Harry, who was waiting for his reaction, no doubt. “I-Harry.. I…”

Harry was smiling sheepishly, in the way he did when he was afraid of criticism. But how could Nick criticize him? He, God, Nick loved Harry. It was strange that he had never thought of it until now. Maybe it was always there, the unknown feeling of fondness, endearment. Nick had never thought to give a name to that feeling, but now there seemed no better way to phrase it.  _ Love. _

Just to stop that pitiful look on his face, Nick practically jumped at him, wrapped his arms around his neck and holding steadfast. Harry held him even tighter, arms at Nick’s waist. Their faces hidden in each other’s necks, breathing in the scent and taste of their skin. Nick slowly moved his head to nudge his mouth up to Harry’s ear. 

“Harry,” He whispered sweetly, “I love you, my dear.” He kissed his cheek, and they stayed there, embracing.

Later, Lily would come out to scold them, ever similar to Aimee, for keeping the door open and making the family wait for them. Aimee would serve their lunch with a knowing smirk on her face. After lunch, Oliver would lead Harry to his room, where they would sit criss-cross-applesauce on Oliver’s bed, and ooh and ahh over his book. Then, the whole family, including Harry, would sit down to watch whatever crap show was on that night. Lily would start to whine about being hungry, and Harry and Nick would make the trip to grab a frozen pizza, taking just a tad bit too long because they would make stealing a kiss in the grocery aisle a game. They would eat again as a family, and the kids would go to sleep, and Aimee would wag her eyebrows at them as she ascended to her own room. The remaining men would stare at each other lovingly (disgustingly, as Lily would describe cheerily) and share soft kisses until they were almost falling over each other, trying to get to bed. And that night they would share amazed “I love you”s before they finally fell asleep. 

Then, life would go on. Happier and more full of love, it went on, nevertheless.


End file.
